POEM NO. 2
(As a part of the friendly poetry challenge, nominated by Pijush Kanti Deb)
(As a part of the friendly poetry challenge, nominated by Pijush Kanti Deb)
Honks of horns,
clothes what worn
conclude priorities,
status and destiny!
Sirens are useless,
death is evident,
jobs aren't permanent
seconds are important!
She played her broken flute
in the rotary's garden;
her brother tried to tune
into what he last sang!
Her friends hit the dhols
the air kissed its freedom;
the rotary seemed true
like stars falling from the blue!
Sick fumes of the city
seriously looms over the rotary,
yet the blinds ceased not playing
their best songs in the rotary!
But, honks of horns
and business measured in clocks
design their deafness
wherein lies tomorrow's deaths!
Life may run in a circle
like pride calmed in shackles;
the cars just have to carry
flesh that shall melt in agony
so, should anyone pay heed
to the city's only singing rotary?
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